The Dark Rashomon Job
by Valawenel
Summary: Written for secret Santa Exchange on LiveJournal. on prompt stated in notes at the beginning. Case-fic, episode-like-story. Leverage Team has to deal with present and past problems, while doing a complicated con
1. Chapter 1

This is short, three-chapter story, written for The Secret Santa Exchange on LiveJournal. (for Radiolaires)

This is the prompt I had to work with:

a con happening outside of the USA. Possibly in a remote location (at sea, in a wireless village, in the forest, in a lighthouse), but it's not an obligation. Could be Berlin, could be Sydney, or you can go wild and lose them in Mougins or Ban Houzai. Sleeping and living arrangements are a constant source of worry to everyone. Hardison hates the food and Parker cannot shut up about the local specialties. Eliot and Sophie are suspiciously cozy with the local thugs. Of course everyone has to work with make-shift material and the language barrier. 

a dark alternative to _The Rashomon Job_: in which everyone realises one of their past cons dangerously interfered with each other's life of the time. Backstories are unveiled, others kept secret. They exchange lies that fool nobody, mistep and endanger each other in the middle of a con. Being under each other's scrutiny takes its toll. Whether or not it all works out in the end is left to the promptee.

I wrote this as a part of Texas Mountain Laurel series, and it goes between The Chargoggblahblah Job, and The Arch-nemesis Job.

In short, this is right before their trip to Japan, and Arch-nemesis is after they've returned.

(I'll edit the list in my profile later)

After this one, I'm starting with Florence-Sterling-Eliot mess.

The Dark Rashomon Job – chapter 1

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All four of them were leaning with their elbows on the high working desk that faced the big screen on the wall. Only Parker's hand was moving – she had a golden chain in her fingers, and she swung a medal at the end of it, left and right, left and right.

They stared at the computerized projection of the Sixth Fleet maneuver, many orange dots clustered in the Pacific Ocean. Sophie couldn't help but think how ominous that silent advance was. Unstoppable.

"They're slow," Hardison said.

"_They're_ ships," Eliot said. They didn't look at each other, their eyes riveted to the progress.

Sophie glanced at Parker, at her hypnotizing, slowly swinging medal, a replica of the medal that Emperor Akihito had to give to a military attaché in only one week.

Their preparation for the Japan job entered the second week, and with the each passing day, they faced more and more trouble. And now, the Sixth Fleet slowly moved to Japan, and Hardison couldn't yet find out _why_.

"We'll be there before they arrive," Sophie said lightly. "But I better call Nate and tell him to get in here."

"He is here." Hardison pointed a remote at the screen, and the blue ocean disappeared, replaced by the set of brewery cameras. "He said he would just…" Hardison stopped when one camera showed a table near the window, and Nate sitting with an unknown guy. "Okay, this is new."

"Show me the close pan." Eliot was already standing.

Hardison put that camera on the entire screen.

"This is a client," Sophie said. They all looked at her. Even Parker put the medal down on the desk.

"How could you know?" Hardison eyed the man.

"This is Nate's 'talking with a client' posture; reserved but showing interest, non-committal smile and tensed listening. No danger, at least none that I can see."

Eliot came closer to the screen, checking all details in the feed. "We're travelling to Japan in three days." He didn't turn around while saying that. "This can't be a new job; maybe he's just investigating for some future case."

"We'll see." Hardison clicked the remote again, putting Nate in the upper left corner of the blue background. The orange dots seemed to advance to his small recording, north-west bound. "Now get back in the chair, you have to sign all the papers for the diplomatic luggage. Why couldn't the Japanese use shorter swords? How am I supposed to pack your katana, as diplomatic _what_?"

"The Japanese do have shorter swords, Hardison! The fact you don't know it, doesn't mean they-"

"Yeah, yeah, I read ya. Sign that. And find a box for that thing yourself. I'm too busy with preparing my uniform."

"You mean, your _embroidery_?" Eliot's voice softened as he carefully pronounced the word; he sent a derisive smile at the hacker. "Your golden plaits and stripes you so carefully weaved, along with those little dangling… whatever they are. How many curtains have you robbed for those tassels?"

"Hey, I'll be a general, and I have to show all my medals, all my ranks, all the gold I can put on that thing – it's a part of protocol."

"And you're enjoying it."

"Are you jealous?"

"No, I'm worried. If they ask you something about the Navy, please don't answer with Army slang, or you'll kill us all."

"Yeah, sure, the Japanese are well-versed in our military terminology, they can tell difference between…"

Sophie sighed and tuned out their voices, returning her gaze at the ocean. Their job was about monkeys: one alive, a snow monkey, and one golden, a sapphire monkey – the latter a permanent cause for Eliot's unexplainable grins since they'd started planning. One of the generals on that diplomatic conference was their mark, he had both the monkeys…and one wandering fleet was something that didn't, exactly, fit in that picture.

They weren't ready yet. She opened a printout, one of the many that lay all over the table; this one was from Imperial Household Agency. It contained, as Hardison said, _a few_ tips for protocol for Imperial dinners – all 436 pages full of instructions.

Parker was enjoying the blueprints Hardison also provided. The Imperial Palace was a place full of wonders for her, though Sophie suspected that the thief's attention was mostly directed at Sannomaru Shozokan, the Museum of Imperial Collections.

If she, even once more, read something with the word Imperial in it, she would start cursing.

Their bags were piled up in the corner of the big room. Eliot was the only one who was already packed. His bag had only a few black shirts and black trousers, nothing more. Hardison's two big cases, full of uniforms and accessories, stood by Eliot's bag. Sophie hadn't added her luggage yet; Japan was warm and sunny this time of year. A weather report promised warm breezes and humidity, just perfect for her hair, and she had trouble choosing light dresses for the occasion. Too many to choose, to be exact. If she put aside the fleet that slowly advanced on Japan, it could be a nice trip. Rain in Portland was driving her nuts, and the warm breeze sounded marvelous. If only-

"That looks like two safes," Parker said out of nowhere. The thief pointed at the brewery recording and Nate's table, now with two metal cases on it. One was open, giving them a glimpse of something glassy in it. The man was standing now, pointing at the things inside, and explaining in a hurried manner.

"Maybe I should go and check what's going on," Eliot said.

Hardison waved that suggestion off. "Maybe you should go and check the antennae boxes; I just remembered we have some in the back rooms. Not sure about the length, though. Can you unscrew your sword's handle?"

Sophie needed only one glance at Hardison to see that he knew very well that katanas weren't McDonald's toys, but Eliot was too shocked to think better. That outrageous insult left him speechless, though, long enough for her to snatch the remote from Hardison and beam Nate's recording on the big screen in full size. "This glass inside the crates looks like small bottles. Maybe he's just testing the stuff from our new liquor supplier? Or maybe not," she added when the man opened the other one, and they saw something dark and furry in it. Nate visibly flinched when he leaned closer to examine it.

"Maybe he got us a kitten," Hardison said with one sideways glance at Eliot. Eliot entwined his fingers, and his hands lay very still on the desk. Hardison caught the message and backed away.

Sophie rolled her eyes and returned to the recording. Nate was standing now, shaking hands with the man; only now when they both stood up, did she see his guest had a walking stick in his hand. His limp when he walked to the door was unmistakable. Nate wasn't far from limping, too; he carried two cases, one bag, and something more in his hands, and he left the camera range.

"Well, it's about time." Hardison put the ocean back on the screen. "While he was doing who knows what, the Sixth Fleet made another ten miles, and I still can't find out why. I do know I don't like it. General Jackson will be at that dinner too, but I doubt they are being sent just to provide a fireworks and confetti party in his honor."

A door bang stopped him, and Nate entered the room, pushing the door with the cases in front him. He held a long piece of wood under one arm, Sophie noticed when they all turned to him.

"So, what's that all about?" Hardison asked. "Who's that man?"

"You have to pack, we're leaving in two hours."

"We ain't leaving for three days-"

"What's in the cases, Nate?" Sophie quickly said.

Nate put one case on the floor. "This is laboratory equipment." He pushed it aside with his foot, and lowered the other one. "This, however, is a dead animal. I presume some sort of beaver."

"Ah," she said lightly, watching a grin on his face. "Fascinating."

"And this." Nate finally pulled out the piece of wood and showed it to them in all its details. "This is an axe."

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"No, no, _no_." Hardison's stern tone would've been taken much more seriously if he wasn't waving with his golden tassel. "Only three days before Japan, and we ain't ready. We can't take another job!"

Nate looked at the rest of the team: Sophie with her unreadable smile, Parker frowning, and Eliot occupied with the axe he'd put on the desk. Parker was actually frowning at Eliot, darting significant glances between the axe and George in the background. Nate checked; George didn't look upset with a fact that Eliot held the axe in his hands. The tree looked content and satisfied.

Trying to forget that he just felt emotional temperature of the tree, Nate threw a USB stick into the hacker's hands. "Plug it in." He turned to face the screen while grumbling Hardison plugged it into his laptop.

"This isn't a job," he said when images of woods and mountains flooded the screen. "This is a two-day long investigation. We have to find proof for my client, Professor Sam Dobson. There is a chemical that's endangering wildlife in the mountains near the Canadian border. He can't travel himself, and he doesn't trust anyone with that information. Our job is only to collect samples and test them for that particular chemical, then we're off to Japan. When we get back, we'll make a real plan and take down whoever we have to."

Eliot twirled the axe between his fingers. Nate winced, deciding _not_ to glance at George. "Why now?" Eliot said. "Why can't it wait until we- hey!" The wood cracked, splitting near the head, and metal blade slammed at the desk, missing his other hand by an inch.

"That's why," Nate said. "There are five lumberjack camps in that area, and one of them is using that chemical to ease the cutting process. Professor Dobson said that shortens the time in the sawmill by seventeen seconds per one beam. For seventeen seconds – during the year it saves millions of dollars. Yet it's not exactly the chemical – it's some sort of enzyme that corrodes the organic matter on a molecular level. That axe simply sat in the treated sawdust for a few hours. Think of termites – that's how it works. The beams are treated with it before while they lay in huge basins – they still use water channels to transport them to lower ground where trucks take over. It spreads. And it has a very long life span, enough to reach thousands and thousands of miles, poisoning everything. Do you want to drink water with an enzyme that can do _this_ to an axe?"

They all stared at the wood; Eliot felt the cut end, and it crumbled under his fingers, leaving the red rash on his fingers.

"Professor Dobson contacted the FBI, and they sent one investigator, off the record, not taking it seriously. Besides… it's in Canada. Every joint USA – Canada operation would take months. Professor Dobson was the one who made that enzyme and gave it to this man." Nate pointed at the picture of an old, squinting grey man on the screen. "Meet Lee Ryce-Forbes, the Supervisor of those camps, the main guy in control. He works for a big Canadian conglomerate and his division is at the top of the chain. The most successful, brings in the most money. He wants to keep that position, and Dobson's enzyme is the best way to spike the productivity."

"But still… seventeen seconds for one beam?" Hardison said.

"Think hundreds of thousands of seconds, Hardison. And he won't stop – once they're done with that range, they will move their camps onto another location. The spreading will continue. Professor Dobson used Ryce-Forbes's sawmills to test his enzyme, and he was promised the results wouldn't be published. They weren't. They were stolen and used. He never intended to release it to industry; he's a typical lab rat, purely academic."

Nate clicked the remote and the pictures changed: the wilderness remained the same, yet they showed sawmills, basins with thousands of beams floating, along with trailers and small houses for workers. "Parker and Eliot – you'll go as a couple. Ryce-Forbes is always short on workers. Get the trailer, work, hang out with the workers in the cantina, saloon, whatever they have, and bring me water and sawdust samples. Dobson said he thinks it's used in only one camp for now, so you'll maybe have to move through all five."

"And you'll just sit in the bushes around the camps, ready with your bottles?" Parker asked.

"No, I'll have a cover. Professor Dobson found out his enzyme was used when his friend Jim brought him a full box of dead beavers. He's a veterinarian and author of The Last Beaver Dam, a fascinating book about wildlife. Their dams are nearly ruined – the water that flows through them is corroding them, and it's a matter of time before the entire valley will get flooded. He'll give me his truck, and I'll pose as his partner, a veterinarian, visiting local farms in the valley. The laboratory equipment will be stored as his medical supplies, creating no suspicion."

"So, are we saving the beavers, their dams, the valley, woods, animals, people… what?" Sophie said.

"We are taking samples in small bottles. That's all for now. The saving part will come after Japan."

Nate changed the set of pictures one last time. The screen now showed a small trailer village, with gardens and chicken coops. "Sophie and Hardison – this is your target. There are three off-grid vegan communities on the slopes of that mountain; they go to the valley only to sell their products and avoid mingling with local farmers. In fact, they are on the brink of fighting most of the time. All three of them lay on the creeks coming down from the mountain, from the lumber camps. Test their water, soil, and ask questions. Maybe they know something more, something that Parker and Eliot can't find from our workers."

"Off -grid." Hardison almost choked. "You're sending me to… do you even know what that means? No power, no telephone, no internet, no microwave, no… you gotta be kidding me! Why can't I do Eliot's part in lumberjack-"

"Do you feel skilled enough to work with a chainsaw, Hardison?"

"Wrong question," Eliot said. "Can you even lift it?"

"But Parker is going with-"

"As my wife, or girlfriend, or something like that."

"No problem. I'll adapt. Parker can go with Sophie, eat raw potatoes, I'm more than willing to pose as your husband, wife, daughter, _whatever_."

Nate rubbed his forehead. "Look, we have two days. Bring sandwiches, for god's sake, if you think you'll starve to death."

"I'll _stupid_ to death."

"I always knew your brain lives in your tech thingies and not in your head. You're just remotely accessing it from time to-"

"Okay, enough!" Nate stopped Eliot. "Go pack your things. We're leaving in two hours."

"What the hell am I supposed to wear?" Hardison still looked as if his entire life was flashing in front of his eyes. "Are they some sort of hippies? Do they bathe? And how? In a river? Or they are survivalists, those strange guys with underground bunkers full of cans and dried food, preparing for the zombie apocalypse?"

"I knew you'd find a chance to involve zombies in this," Eliot said.

"Hey, you have a chance to wear your plaid shirts, so shut up! I'll have to weave my own clothes, as it seems. Or bear skin. Or-wait! It's Canada! Mountain with camps, vegan farms and valley with beavers. There'll be wild animals roaming freely through the woods!"

Nate clicked the remote for the last time, and the screen went dead. "What part of 'go and pack your things' you did not understand?"

"The 'things' part," Hardison muttered, but he stood up. Parker followed him upstairs to their apartment, and Eliot wandered off to the kitchen.

Nate smiled at Sophie. "Only two days. Nothing can go wrong."

Her smile, in return, was pretty ironic.

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Their internet connection died when the mountain range started to rise before their eyes. Hardison packed his laptop and his tablet with a dignified sorrow reserved for the funerals of old friends.

Sophie was driving. Parker was occupied with information about the mountain, woodcutting process and everything useful Hardison managed to collect before. Nate went, for the second time, through all the steps written on a few papers. Dobson's explanation about the testing wasn't too academic. On the contrary, there were many red arrows pointing at the things and big letters stating: then you press _this_, and add _this_.

Eliot drove behind Lucille in his Challenger. All their earbuds could catch was loud music. Nate wasn't sure if the was hitter trying to mute their eventual nagging, or just trying to drive them out of their skins; both tactics seemed to work on Hardison.

The earbuds died when the mountain range hovered over them, when they stopped on the last ridge before entering the valley.

Mountain slopes clutched the valley like giant fingers around a bowl. The dark green completely surrounded lighter green, old forests competing with cultivated land.

"This is better than Google Maps, Hardison," Sophie said to the upset hacker when they all got out, and when Eliot joined them to look at the land under their feet. "Everything is in our palm, look. The lumber camps are hidden in the mountains, but you can see where they are by following the canals they use to transport beams down to the valley. And there, those three patches of color in the fields – that's our target, our communities. Everything within our reach."

Hardison slapped a mosquito on his other hand and said nothing.

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"Lumber camp number one," Parker said when Eliot stopped his Challenger in front of the long wooden barracks. Trailers, tents, more barracks, everything was huddled together in the small opening, surrounded by tall trees. The mountain above them blocked the sun, and trees added long shadows, making noon feel like twilight. Clear blue sky shined only directly above them.

She stepped out, waiting for Eliot to bring their bags, and almost lost her boot when her foot went through the five inches of mud mixed with sawdust. "Can we just put some of this dirt into our bottle and leave?" she quickly said.

"Nope." Eliot gave her a backpack. "We need water from the basins, and from the place where they gather logs, and a soil sample. Not to mention it would be useful if we find out if they have that chemical here. We can wait for the cover of darkness and sweep this place before we go to meet the others."

"Are you sure you'll find the meeting point?" she asked while trotting after him to the barracks. "Do you want me to check our phones again?" Their signal was gone when the slopes closed around them. They were cut off from the rest of the team.

"Yes, and no." Eliot lowered his bag onto the porch; loud music from the barracks gave a little life to this murky place. "What's troubling you, Parker?"

She struggled with the last yard of mud and grumbled. "This slows me down. I can't even walk, much less run. Or anything."

"Try to slide," he said and opened the door. Violins and banjos, chirping and screaming, burst out.

She pulled her foot from the trap closing around her ankle, put a grin on her face, and followed him in.

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Sophie straightened Hardison's jacket and the cheerful, flowery scarf he wrapped around his shoulders. They still didn't know what mixture of community they were heading to. His scarf was for hippies – though he was too young to ever see real hippies – his jacket was linen, hand-made, without artificial colors, and his trousers were camo, just in case they faced survivalists gathering pyramids of canned food.

"Before we were cut off from civilization, I found out that two of the three communities are part of WWOOF," Hardison said. "It stands for World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms, and that means they are accepting volunteers. You can go to any part of the world, stay and work with them, and get food and a free place to stay. I managed to get us in, legally, so we don't have to think of aliases or a cover story."

Sophie watched Lucille as the van disappeared from her sight. Nate drove off, leaving the two of them on the road, by the tall hedge. Parker and Eliot were already on their way deeper into the mountain.

"Organic farms means they are simply hard working people, providing healthy food for their families," she said. "Nothing to be worried about, right?"

"I guess you're right." He sent her a smile. "We'll spend our time picking beans with small children. I can live with that. Go now, they are expecting us."

The wooden doors in the hedge were open; they stepped onto a small path, covered with white pebbles. Small flowers shone red and yellow alongside their path.

They took only five steps inside when they heard the unmistakable click of a shotgun loading.

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"Aren't you too short for a lumberjack?" asked a bald, bearded man.

Parker kept silent; Eliot was maybe the wrong person to be asked that, but Baldy who hovered over him with his six feet five was the right person to ask it. And so were all the others; a bunch of loud, laughing, _very tall_ men, who whistled when she entered the cantina.

This one looked like he was in charge, so Eliot went directly to where he was leaning his elbows on the bar, flirting with the waitress with three more men.

Eliot did his confused blinking. Parker kept grinning, mirroring the waitress's smile.

"We do need someone who will make coffee, and bring it to the guys at break, along with lunch. Do you want to be our delivery boy?"

"I ain't in a position to choose," Eliot said. "I need a job. Ya think I can't work with a chainsaw?"

"Nah, darling, that's for the big guys." Baldy frowned looking down at him, and Parker wondered why Eliot wasn't lining them up in a pile already. He just stood there and smiled. Baldy sighed and left his beer on the desk. "Come with me. I'll give you a job, but I wasn't joking – we have coffee machines in the back rooms, and we do need organized delivery."

"Stay here, darlin'. No forks, please." Eliot said over his shoulder, when he went after Baldy.

Yeah, _stay here_. Parker put her hands in her pockets. _And no forks_. Those three men now openly measured her, grinning and winking, though neither one made any move towards her. If they just stayed where they were, this stupid situation could end peacefully for everybody.

And maybe this twist was even better – if Eliot really got a delivery job, they could circulate through all five camps without any suspicion. Only two days, she reminded herself.

"Don't just stay there, sweetheart, come and join us." A call came from one of the tables behind her, not from the three men by the bar. She turned around to check that group. Five of them, with two girls. Fake, curly blondes, with plaid shirts and cowboy boots. This looked like a commercial, and a cheap one. Music added to the atmosphere, and this set up was screaming _bar fight_ so much that Parker seriously thought about leaving. Not that she was afraid of bar fights – but attracting so much attention to themselves on their first day, first minute of investigation, wasn't so clever.

"Anyone want a coffee?" Eliot asked behind her, and she sighed in relief.

Yet, when she saw him, she widened her eyes just as all the men by the bar did. Eliot held a tray in his hands, with five cups of coffee. Baldy was hanging around his shoulders, the same way one of those men would carry a dead deer.

"What?" he asked coming to the bar, with light, swift steps, as if carrying only the tray. "I thought all guys here skin the wildlife to make clothes for themselves. Is he too big for a scarf?"

A grunt came from somewhere, Parker couldn't tell its source. The music died out in the moment Eliot put the tray on the bar. The grunt repeated, louder this time – just then she saw it was Baldy.

Eliot lowered one shoulder and let him slide to the floor, and now all of them heard the grunt again. Baldy sat on the floor, shook his head – and burst into laughter. Parker squinted at that thundering sound, but all the men in the room relaxed.

"Maybe we should give the man a chainsaw, after all!" he said when he scrambled to his feet, and his hand, the size of a watermelon, slapped Eliot on the shoulder. "This calls for beer! Call me Baldy!" _Cool_. Her assigned nickname was his real one.

Eliot slapped him back, grabbed a bottle and winked at her. "Come 'ere, darlin', meet my new friends."

"Yay," Parker said through her gritted teeth. Two days of this shit suddenly sounded much longer.

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"Have you seen him?!"

Hardison slowly turned around. He was between Sophie and a woman with a shotgun, so he didn't need to take a step. "Seen whom?" he asked with his most pleasant voice.

"Wayne." The woman stepped out of her cover; her eyes under the bushy dark hair darted all around them in frantic jumps. "Close the gate. Don't be afraid, I'll cover you."

Okay, _that_ scared the shit out of him; Hardison quickly closed the door, glancing all around, but nobody was in sight.

The woman smiled then, and put the shotgun over her shoulder. "Good. That'll keep him away. He rummaged our pumpkins last night. I'm Ann-Catrin. And you are…?"

"You're expecting us – we're volunteers," Hardison waved to Sophie to come closer. "This is-"

"Yes, I remember now. Follow me, I'll show you your place and introduce you to the others." She passed by them then, waving off Sophie's offered hand. They just glanced at each other. Sophie nudged Hardison to start walking. He didn't need that – that Wayne could simply open the door and enter – nobody locked it.

"Who's that Wayne you wanted to shoot?" He asked the woman's back. "Your enemy? Competitor? Lumberjack from the camps?"

"A black bear."

"What?" Hardison stopped mid-step. Sophie pulled him to continue.

"I suggest you don't leave the hedge – there's barbed wire inside – especially not at night."

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Nate had decided that the meeting point would be an abandoned lumber camp. Ryce-Forbes's men moved the machinery from there only a month ago, so nature didn't have enough time to claim it again or to destroy the roads. It was also at the perfect position, halfway between the valley and the mountain camps, but not likely to be visited by anybody.

Hardison and Sophie had only to climb up a little – a half an hour walk from their community, and Eliot and Parker had the same distance, only going downwards, from the woods.

Nate checked his watch; he had only twenty minutes to get there. He had spent the last three hours squelching in the knee deep water with his colleague and new partner, a veterinarian and wildlife enthusiast – _"Call me Jim, pal"_ – examining one of four large basins for collecting timber. They entered it on the opposite side of where the loggers were parked, where it looked like a real, natural lake.

"Look, here's another one!" A yell from his left stopped him during the tenth time checking his phone. _No service_.

Jim trotted through the muddy water in his fisherman boots, raising yet another soaked, dead ball of fur. They already had a full bag, and evening was closing in.

Nate raised his eyes to the dark slopes above them. "Do you know which creek runs into this basin?" he asked Jim. "If we follow it, it can lead us directly to the camp that's using Dobson's enzyme."

The sturdy young man put the animal in the bag, and threw it aside. "No luck there. There are two. But there's also a huge net of small streams, forest springs, that connect them. In case you didn't notice, everything is soaked in water here. One of those small streams could bring poisoned water from the third camp, not those two creeks. By the time it gets here, everything is contaminated, so the only way is to find the source."

"Okay, I have to call it a day. I'll meet with my people – we'll spend the night up in the mountains, and continue tomorrow if they haven't already found something."

Jim opened the second bag. "I'll collect a few more while I can still see, then head home. Be careful."

"You too." With that, Nate went to the truck that Jim had given him – a big logo glaringly showed who was he and why he was driving around. It spared him a lot of explaining to locals; they were automatically open and willing to talk.

He followed the muddy forest path, made by numerous loggers, to the meeting point.

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The muddy road ended in a similar dump of soil; it simply dissolved in the middle of a large opening in the wood, a land ploughed and devastated with heavy machinery. Nate parked the truck by the first line of trees, and opened the hood. If someone stumbled upon the car, he would think the new veterinarian went to get some help for the broken engine. He picked up his metal case with the portable lab, and hoped it wouldn't start to rain, on top of all this moisture all around.

He found Parker and Eliot in the remnants of the barracks, deserted and left to rot in this dampness.

"No luck with your phones?" he asked the gloomy darkness that awaited him. "Still no signal?"

"I caught a few minutes while we walked down here," Parker said. She pulled a small flashlight from somewhere, and placed it onto one large log that lay in the middle of the room. It gave Nate enough light to see them. Eliot was sitting on a bunch of smaller logs, and he looked like he was half sleeping, with his arms crossed, and beanie pulled low.

Nate unpacked his case, arranging bottles and everything needed on the log.

Parker came closer; she handed him three small bottles. "These are from the creek near the first camp, soil around the cantina, and from one small stream that flowed at the other side of the camp." She watched him taking samples, and adding a few drops of three different fluids in every one of them. "What will happen if they are contaminated?"

Nate put the samples into a small machine, and pressed the button that was marked with a red arrow in his instructions. "We'll see in… ten seconds. Hardison would probably know what this thing is, and what it does to analyze the samples, but for now we can only… and here we go…" He brought the flashlight closer when the readings on the display blinked green numbers. "Nope, nothing. These are clean."

"Damn." A muttered curse came from Eliot's log, nothing more.

"I hoped we could end this tonight," Parker said. Nate glanced at them both; Eliot was grim, and Parker sighed.

"What's wrong with you two?"

"I'm bored, and he is drunk."

"I'm not _drunk_, Parker. I'm just… soaked in beer. Those guys drink it instead of water, and they were testing to see how long could I follow."

Nate risked a serious growl in his direction, and pointed the flashlight directly at Eliot. The hitter darted him one nasty glare, but he didn't look or sound drunk. More tired and pissed off. Nate had seen him drunk and with a bad hangover only once, when he'd had to get rid of a professor in a college case, with that frat kid, Travis Zilgram. Tequila shots mixed with cheap whiskey had turned Eliot into a greenish, swaying bundle of headache and nausea; they were lucky Sophie took over and dealt with that hangover with her Middle East tricks. And that reminded him…. "Hardison and Sophie are late?"

"Hardison called when I had a signal, but he just whispered something about not being able to speak because of some Wayne, and the line went dead. But they were on their way."

"Maybe I should go to meet 'em," Eliot said, but didn't move from his comfortable position. "Night, woods, Hardison, walking – only two of those are enough to get 'em in trouble."

"They only have to follow the road," Nate said. "We'll wait. Have you tried to find a storage place for the chemicals?"

"It's not in this camp." Parker shook her head. "Tomorrow morning we'll go with Baldy to camp number two – he's Eliot's new friend – and Eliot will deliver food and more things. That way he won't have to hang from the trees again."

Oh, it looked like there was more to the story – maybe Eliot's bad mood wasn't only from the headache. "Something I should know?"

"They cut the high branches with machinery," Eliot said. "Except when they have new workers who need to be tested. So I had to climb the trees and do it manually."

"And we all know how expertly he avoided coming near my harnesses all these years." Parker chuckled. "Somebody doesn't like ropes."

"Ropes can snap."

"No, ropes can be cut, they don't snap. There's a difference. Ever tried to cut a rope?"

"As a matter of fact, I did."

"Yeah, sure," Parker said. "Of course you did. How?"

"London, eight years ago, Museum of Natural History, first floor, The Vault, elevator shaft. I cut the rope hanging among the cables. With a knife."

Parker said nothing.

Nate closed the bottles and prepared a few new ones for Hardison's and Sophie's arrival. "I think I remember something happened in London, connected with The Vault… somebody died in an attempted robbery? You were involved in that?"

"Yeah, I was," Eliot's voice grew darker and more quiet. "I went with an inexperienced retrieval specialist; our employer wanted him to learn. He almost killed us both. But in the end, only he ended up dead."

"You were after the Devonshire Emerald?" Parker's voice was only a whisper, and Nate quickly looked at her. The thief's face was turned away from the light, he could see only the line of her jaw.

"Yes. Last week before they sent it on the tour across Europe to USA."

"That other guy was shot, and crushed in the elevator shaft, if I recall correctly," Nate said, and then added carefully, "He was young."

The darkness from Eliot's corner grew stronger. "I don't want to talk about it, Nate."

Of course he wouldn't; knowing Eliot's over-protectiveness, losing someone on the job was very likely a still-burning pain. Especially knowing that his sense of responsibility for various fuck-ups was not healthy. That sort of shit burned people out.

Nate took two steps on the wooden, slightly saggy floor; it gave out a sucking sound. The only place to sit, besides Eliot's pile of logs, was a bunch of broken chairs and tables in the corner. He found one chair with three legs, and brought it closer to the log in the middle. Sitting on that thing would be a practice in balance, but he didn't want to stand the whole time.

The silence after his steps was as deep as only silence in nature could be – no background sounds. Only one, lonely cricket chirped occasionally from somewhere in the barracks.

Parker was still standing by the log. Her voice, when she broke the silence, was quiet and restrained, almost whisper. "They said there was a curse on the Purple Sapphire." Something unidentified in her voice raised the hairs on Nate's arms. "Now I know they were right."

Nate glanced at Eliot; the hitter raised his head, watching her, clearly feeling the same unease Nate had felt. Both of them waited.

"I lay there, in that ventilation shaft for days, with both legs broken, listening only to the wind whistling through the metal coffin." Her whisper was soft, and her every word sat a leaden weight in Nate's stomach. "I could move only my arms, so I dug, and pressed, and pulled, for hours, loosening the screws, trying to make a hole. It took me three days to crawl my way out to the backyard. I was half-dead. The people who found me thought I had been mugged. They saved my life." She stopped talking; Nate could hear her breath. One muscle in her jaw danced as she breathed through her nose, still hiding her face in shadows. He didn't want to see her eyes now.

"The Devonshire Emerald and The Purple Sapphire were scheduled on the same tour; they lay side by side in The Vault," she said finally, and only then slowly turned her face to Eliot. It was empty, frozen in a blank mask. "Before I fell, I activated the alarm, to get those sons of bitches who messed up my heist. And I listened to the gunshots, and screams, and the elevator going down. Because… it was my rope you cut that day, Eliot."

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	2. Chapter 2

**The last chapter will be published tomorrow, Monday morning (CET)**

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><p>The Dark Rashomon Job – Chapter 2<p>

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The same moment Sophie set foot in the barracks, she knew something was wrong. Three frozen, immobile people reflected the chill she felt inside, as if the temperature had dropped by twenty degrees. Even Hardison felt it; he stopped at the door.

She lowered the club Hardison had armed her with for protection – they felt Wayne's presence all the way up to this place – and tried to catch Nate's eyes. No luck there, he was facing away from her.

"We brought our samples," Hardison said. "I guess you didn't have any luck with yours?"

"No." Nate's reply fell heavy, and froze in the air before hitting the floor.

Still nobody moved; Hardison still stood by the door. "Okay, what's going on?" he asked. "Parker? Is everything alright?"

No, it wasn't. Sophie knew that even before the thief turned to look at them. Parker's eyes swiveled from Hardison to Eliot, with an expression of a child prepared to evade a hit. And Eliot… he was a restrained whirl of energy so compressed and turned inward that he looked like he would implode. She had never seen him so closed off, so… far away. His and Parker's eyes met for a second, and they both diverted their eyes from each other.

Sophie could almost hear the shattering sound of something breaking.

Nate cleared his throat. "It seems," he started quietly, "that Parker and Eliot both worked at the same place, at the same time, eight years ago. It ended badly. He cut her rope – she fell and broke her legs. She triggered the alarm – his friend got killed by security."

Sophie held her breath. Hardison made two quick steps and his arms were around Parker, holding, giving, and his muttered words melted into one long, comforting sound.

The walls around Eliot grew up, thicker.

"Are you sure?" Sophie asked like she would ask about the weather; lightly. "When did it happen? I'm sure there's a lot of possible-"

"Eight years ago."

"I was in London eight years ago. Good, for the moment I thought we would have another Dagger of Aqu'Abi mess, all of us on the same job…" Her words trailed off when Nate twitched. "What?"

"It _did_ happen in London, Sophie. The Museum of Natural History. They were after Edward Heron-Allen's Purple Sapphire and the Devonshire Emerald."

Sophie's heart skipped a beat. "Which day?" Her voice betrayed her; it came out as a ghost of a whisper. "I was there too. Not planning a heist, no, just making groundwork with my mark. He was a curator at that time, and I swapped all his bank accounts, changed his numbers, and disabled them to make transactions that would result in the exchange of a few sculptures that I was interested in."

"Wait, what?" It was Hardison who turned to her now – much to Sophie's surprise, Parker seemed to be forgotten in his arms for a moment. "It was you who messed up his accounts?!"

"No way, Hardison, you couldn't, simply _couldn't_ have been there too – you were barely in high school at that time!"

"I wasn't there, physically, you're right – but I was _in_ there. And I was also in high school when I put Iceland on the brink of bankruptcy, Soph, so that means nothing. Are you talking about Sam Morgan, the curator? Because if you are, you blew away my first attempt to pay for Nana's medical bills. It took me two more months before I was able to start all over again, aiming at Iceland that time. She almost died because of that!"

The pain bleeding through his voice hit her hard. "I wasn't… I didn't know- " She stopped. What she could tell him? She had her own reasons, and she had also paid a huge price for that con. "I couldn't pull it off. I had to leave him alone, because someone's attempted robbery stirred all the security protocols…" Once again, her words died when she looked at Parker and Eliot.

"Eliot," Hardison whispered, anger seeping into his words. "The hell, man? You cut Parker's rope? What-"

Eliot stood up in one move, and strolled past them to the door.

They all stood in shocked silence.

What was the chance, really, that their lives had been so closely interwoven, just like they'd been around that dagger? But this time, there wasn't any banter or cheerful competition. The darkness of their lives reached out and grabbed them in a deadly clutch, bringing forward all the dirty aspects of their jobs.

"Nate?" Parker said, a small voice, a plea for reason, for sense, for making this go away.

Nate moved, slowly. He got up and put his hands on the metal case, not opening it for a few seconds. "Hardison, where are your samples?" His voice was a briefing one, but it lacked its usual sharpness.

Sophie didn't wait to see how Nate's attempt would work out; she followed Eliot outside.

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He didn't get far – she almost bumped into his back when she went around the corner of the barracks. He stood there, watching the dark forest that surrounded them.

"You lost someone important that day, Eliot?" she asked. He didn't turn around, but even in almost complete darkness, she felt his shoulders tensing. She didn't have to see it.

His voice sounded thick with an unidentified emotion. "I've lost too many people, Sophie, too many good people. That boy, Jean, he was an… a good man. At his core, he was a good man." Which Eliot wasn't at that time, she finished his thought. And because of that, his death was even worse, undeserved. "So much time passed, and I was starting to hope I would never again feel that, that-" He gritted his teeth with effort, and he had to take a deeper breath to continue. "That feeling of, of…"

"Failure?" She offered when he stopped.

"Loss," he said. And the sadness in that simple word squeezed her heart. "I've lost too many people. I thought I was done with losing them. I was wrong, I… well, I was wrong."

Oh, she knew which recent loss might've been one of the triggers for this retreat, but she knew she had to keep silent, not to mention her name. She waited through his hesitation, staying one step behind him.

Even that step was too close, it seemed. He put his hands in his pockets, and the barriers rose a little more. "It's been a long time since I thought of him," he said to the woods around them. "And this was an unexpected blow – and now knowing Parker's role in it, I can't even... no, I simply can't think about it now."

"It's not her fault, you know that? You were simply caught in a mess of circumstances," she said, pouring the softness into her voice. "Just as it's not your fault for her fall." A new thought cut her breath. "It isn't, is it? You didn't know somebody was hanging on that rope?"

"I knew. I eliminated the competition and potential danger. Maybe, if I had known it was a woman – a girl almost as young as Hardison at that time – maybe I would've stopped. Maybe I wouldn't. And that's one more thing I can't think of now, too."

He flinched at her touch, and she withdrew her hand.

"Get him in, Sophie!" Nate's call almost provoked a snappish reply, but the damage was done. He wouldn't say anything more.

"Come," she nudged him, gently – he expected that move now, and let her turn him around.

They returned to the barracks, and for one long, long moment, four gazes danced all around, unable to rest on familiar faces.

Nate was packing his case. "All the samples I tested were negative for the enzyme," he said. "That's the only important thing now. Concentrate on your job, not on this shit. We'll deal with it later, when we finish tomorrow's search. Understood?"

She wanted to tell him that matters of hurt and heart couldn't be switched on and off on command, but then she realized she was wrong. They could do it; all of them had been doing that for their entire lives. Masks, roles, acting - they knew how to put themselves aside and do the job.

Nate spared one long look at all of them, one by one; the treacherous flashlight gave too much away. They couldn't hide.

"I can't split you up now," he continued just a little softer. "Eliot can't return from his evening walk with another woman, nor can Hardison get a new girl. You have to work as if nothing happened. Can you do it?"

Sophie almost nodded, but she looked at Hardison, at the hurt confusion in his eyes. His arms, always moving, always doing something, simply hung by his sides, reflecting his turmoil.

She didn't tell them what price she had paid because of that disaster – what she'd had to leave behind and flee. Maybe she would never do it. They were quick; they would connect Charlotte Prentiss, count the years, and come to a conclusion. She didn't want that. But surprisingly, just when she thought she would be able to concentrate only on _their_ pain and hurt, she felt her own pain growing into anger. Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them away.

"Of course we can do it, darling," she said. "We are professionals."

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Of course they were professionals. It was a half-hour walk back and deeper into the mountain, with a few tiresome uphill climbs, slippery and slick, and they both hadn't said a word. Parker walked a few steps behind him, and Eliot felt her eyes on his back.

Hardison had told them about Wayne before they separated, so he had an excuse to go full protecting mode. Listening, ready to fight, concentrated only on sounds and shadows around him – not on the lithe girl that walked silently after him.

The night was young, and warm lights in the first camp welcomed them, accompanied by music and laughter from the cantina.

He should've joined the party, but he was tired, and tomorrow promised to be even more demanding. "Trailer?" he asked the darkness behind his back.

"Okay," Parker said. They turned left when they entered the circle of trailers, going to the one Baldy had given them.

They met a group just a few meters after that spot. Baldy, Salmon with his watery eyes, Derek, a black guy, the only one taller than Baldy; he had worked and joked with all of them that afternoon.

Parker was under his arm in a second, her arm around his waist, and her giggle responded to their greetings.

"No chance," Eliot said when they called for them to join them in the cantina. "Maybe tomorrow. Now I have more interesting things to do." He pulled her closer; she chuckled and snuggled, and the guys went away with only a few sleazy smiles.

Yes, they were professionals. He had never doubted that.

Yet, silence fell when they closed the trailer door after them. She got the bed; he made a makeshift berth in the corner.

It wasn't music that kept them awake, separated by darkness, their eyes staring at the roof. It was silence.

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"Try to understand, I have to process this," Hardison finally said at the end of his long tirade. He couldn't see her nodding in the darkness, so Sophie occasionally put encouraging: _yes, I know, yes, of course, I understand_… to show him she was listening.

She wasn't, really, listening to him. She didn't have to process this. She had to think about how to _solve_ it, but that was more demanding than she thought. She couldn't solve herself, for starters – she wasn't thinking clearly, wrapped in her own memories. Hardison should never know how his actions messed up her life.

The main question now was troubling - would that London night mess up their lives now? Would ghosts of it chase them, poisoning the thing they had here? She could deal with Hardison's role in that. She knew, also, that he would process everything that needed to be processed, and get over it. He was young. His soul was clean and in bright colors. He was _good_.

But Parker and Eliot… their darkness lay heavy on them both, burdened them with things Hardison couldn't ever understand.

She clearly saw betrayal in their eyes, in that quick glance. Accusations and anger, hurt and pain, whirling with the same strength.

Maybe Nate had made a mistake. They could come up with a convincing story about swapped women. It would be wise to give Parker and Eliot a little time on their own, to calm down, to think and feel without the other near, reminding them of London all the time.

And she knew how upset Hardison was because of Parker; he was the one who should've been with her now. But it was too late now. They all had to survive this night; tomorrow might show something new to try.

"Did you hear that?" she whispered when the last sentence of Hardison's speech ended in a heavy sigh, before he started another one. "Something's moving in that thicket over there. We better hurry."

He raised his club and shooed her in front of him, silent and scared. They made the rest of their way in silence.

_Thank you, Wayne_.

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Nate spent the night in Jim's guest house, after they had met and walked together to the bar in the village, the only bar in the valley. People greeted the new veterinarian, and the word spread. He promised he would spend the next day driving all around, getting to know the villagers, mostly scattered around on small farms, and he had the perfect excuse to investigate every corner of the mountain.

The first thing in the morning, his phone rang, and Jim directed him to the third lumberjack camp, the biggest and permanent one. It was also built on an opening in the forest, but this one had an asphalt road, and real buildings. Ryce-Forbes set his headquarters and offices in that camp, and he was slowly, but steadily, making it his base for the entire county. All the other camps moved around, spreading further into the mountain, but the expansion was directed from the third one.

One of the guard dogs was late for its medicine; Jim was supposed to drive by and deliver the drugs, and it made perfect sense to send the new veterinarian.

That could shorten their stay here, if Nate found enough samples to prove the poisoning, because Parker and Eliot could skip this one, and after the second camp go directly to the fourth one.

It was only a few minutes' drive from the village, on the good road, but Nate had more than enough time to think about the cut that sliced his team – not in half, but into quarters.

They had this day, and maybe a part of the night, before returning to Portland and packing for Japan, and whatever problems they had, they had to deal with them before Japan. That job was deadly, and his team was shaken; never a good combination.

Yet, when he stopped his truck in the middle of the third camp, all his thoughts about that London night evaporated; _this_ was the place they were looking for.

They called it a camp, and that fooled him, but it was a complex, the center of Lee Ryce- Forbes's empire. A modern, three-story tall building with warehouses and sawmills in the back and thousands and thousands of logs, spreading in perfect lines. There was a beautiful forest here not so long ago, he realized, watching the destroyed soil, ploughed with skidders and harvesters. The complex was in the middle of a huge bowl – the mountain slopes rose on its sides, the forest still fighting the intruders, hovering at the very edge of the wire fence. A person standing on that slope would have a perfect view down of the entire complex.

The main building was guarded by a tall wire fence. He saw five Dobermans inside, one of them his patient.

"Welcome!" Somebody called him and he got out of the truck; a gorgeous black woman in a sharp business suit came closer. "I was expecting you. I'm the personal assistant of Mr. Ryce-Forbes. Call me Heidi. I will take you to the dogs."

"Any chance to speak with Mr. Ryce-Forbes? I'd like to establish a connection, you'll see me more often than Jim. Is he around?"

She pointed at the group of people around one giant wood chipper. One of them, grey haired, was in a suit. "He is busy, unfortunately, and he is leaving in a couple of minutes. Maybe tomorrow, he'll be here all day."

But Ryce-Forbes noticed him and the truck, and he left the group, accompanied by a man in a similar suit, only a few thousand dollars less expensive. The other guy wore yellow rubber boots.

"Welcome, welcome! The new veterinarian, isn't it?" Ryce-Forbes was all white teeth, white hair, and dazzling smile: a successful politician in business waters. The most dangerous combination.

"Claw and Fang aren't feeling well today." Ryce-Forbes grabbed Nate's hand and shook it violently. "Heidi will administer the drug, you can give it to her."

Letting the veterinarian see the dogs himself would be a normal thing – unless somebody didn't want a veterinarian on the other side of that fence. "Are you letting them run in the forest often?" he asked.

"No, never – everything is full of bears. They are dangerous as hell. We've lost a few men. Never found them after they got lost in the woods. Will you excuse me now? I'm in a bit of rush here…" And he was already on his way back to the group. Yellow Boots followed him, but he nodded to Heidi before he went after his boss.

"Perfect," Nate said and took a small package out of the car. "Here you go. Everything you need for our little friends. Give it to them, and call me in the morning."

He was wrong. Parker and Eliot wouldn't skip this place – it would be their main target. He only needed to find a place with a signal to call them.

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Sophie didn't mind that her morning coffee was ground before her eyes, and clearly not coffee at all, but Hardison was shaken by the dark brown brewed drink that Ann-Catrin put on their table.

Sophie had collected a water sample from the small pool near the farm house while Hardison was still sleeping, but she didn't have a chance to go to the upper part of the farm that bordered the woods. This farm was in a strategically important spot, in the second third of the valley, mirroring the second lumber camp in the mountain. The samples they gave Nate the previous night were clean, but they had one more to collect before moving onto another farm.

"We are trying to learn more about the chickens." Hardison started their prepared speech. This farm didn't have any, at least nowhere inside the hedge. "I can't wait to see yours."

"Mine? I don't have any." Ann-Catrin sipped the brew; it must've been chickory root. "But Cynthia over there has three hen houses. She supplies the entire valley with her eggs and meat." That 'over there', according to the direction she waved, was exactly their next step, towards the third camp.

Sophie poured more coffee into Hardison's cup, and he smiled in delight.

"I grow corn for her chicks," Ann-Catrin continued, not waiting for their reply. "and she returns it with their manure. Organic fertilizer at its best. Do you want me to call her and ask if we could swap our volunteers?"

"It would be great – but only after we finish our morning tasks here," Sophie said. "I saw you have a small bean field under the edge of the forest – we'll go there and work until lunch. We can spend a few days with Cynthia, and then return here again after Hardison has learned all about chickens. I'm interested in manure preparations."

And _that_ sentence was something she never imagined Sophie Deveraux would say.

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They didn't have to pretend to be a happy couple, just a couple, right? Eliot didn't try to act when Parker brought him his jacket while he prepared to go to work with the boys; she simply threw the jacket on the table in front of him. He managed to catch the coffee cup before it fell over.

"Oooh, trouble in paradise?" Derek snorted when she turned around without a word and marched away.

"It's your fault," he said. "Too much beer the last night. I was dead."

"And you'll be even more dead tonight when we finish," Salmon said. "You'll work with us until lunch, and then Baldy willl show you where our outer team is. They are working on the path to the next camp location. We plan to open one more in two months. They ain't coming back here to sleep. They have tents, and we bring them everything they need daily."

"Can't wait," he grumbled, because that was expected – and keeping a grim grimace on his face wasn't as hard as he thought it would be. They all sat on the cantina's porch, waiting for the sun to break through the mist that lingered in the branches. The forest was still asleep.

No samples to collect; they had done that here the previous night. Today they had to talk, ask questions, and wait for the next step, the delivery. He'd thought they would go to the third, maybe even the fourth camp, but this was new. That outer team wasn't accounted for, and maybe they spread the chemicals, not the regular workers.

He had to check his phone signal again. He had caught a signal at the edge of the camp before this coffee, and his phone pinged five missed calls from Nate – when he tried to return the call, Nate was out of reach at that time. So were Hardison and Sophie. They all needed to be within reach at the same time to communicate, and that was dangerous. He would try again - but not now. He had more important things to do _now_.

He had woken up at dawn and left the trailer, quietly. The night was long and disturbing, but as hours passed, his memories of Jean dying under the bullets, falling into the elevator shaft and out of his reach, transformed into something much worse. Eight years ago he cut that rope. Now, unfortunately, the unknown person on the end of it had a face. And not just any face – if he could have chosen, Parker would have been the last choice for it. Her impossible mixture of strength and fragility was always driving him nuts. She was able to survive everything, and at the same time, one wrong thought, word, look, could break her inside.

He could've killed her that day. When he finally accepted that thought, it set a slow burning dread in his stomach.

He put his jacket on, and collected his gear. Or whatever it was called here; every one of them had an identical pole-climbing kit. Lineman belt, cinch-lock, adjustable rope-positioning strap and shoe-claws, metal strips with spikes for better grasp. They were playing damn ninjas here – but he had to admit, yesterday it didn't feel stupid when he climbed forty feet up the tree with this stuff.

He hung all those clanging things on the backpack-style storage bag and went after Parker.

This was going to be one hell of a talk; he had no idea what to tell her.

She wasn't in their trailer. She wasn't nearby. She wasn't anywhere in sight, and his nerves danced, fueled with annoyance, worry and anger. Damn, not even a pissed off and hurt Parker would bail on the job. But he always knew he could expect anything from her – and that anything often meant something dangerous.

Like, let's say, going off into the misty woods, to stumble upon lurking Wayne.

He made three circles, wider each time, and his worry headed for fear. Unfortunately, his annoyance followed the trend and grew into real anger.

When he returned to his initial position, she came out of the trailer, as if she had been there all the time.

He couldn't not notice that she flinched when she saw him approaching, and he suppressed a growl, and slowed down his steps.

"We need to talk," he said even before he stopped in front of her, painfully aware that was the only sentence he had ready. What the hell he was supposed to tell her? _Hi Parker, I broke your legs, but you killed my friend, so we're even, let's go work as if nothing happened_? That was supposed to be the result of this talk, but he couldn't _feel_ that. And that was the worst of all. So he simply stood before her, barely able to hide the storm inside.

And she raised her eyebrows, in a slow, maddeningly indifferent way, and looked at him as if looking at the mud before her feet.

The surge of anger surprised him; his vision went red, and he tried, really tried, to slow down, to stay calm.

"I have nothing to tell you," she finally said. Cold and precise words.

Well, how about: _I'm sorry I caused your friend's death_? How about: _I appreciate you've come to settle things_? How about… No, this wasn't going to work. He was miles away from the right state of mind for this shit, and his control was slipping.

He gritted his teeth, moved all the damn muscles in the right order and in the right positions, and produced a wolfish smile. "Good for me," he said. No coldness here; only burning rage.

He turned on his heel and strolled away.

Killing some trees would be nice after this.

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Cynthia also had a shotgun, but Hardison simply waved to the barrel. "Yes, we know, Wayne. We heard him last night. If we see him again, we'll call you so you can shoot him."

"Shoot Wayne?" The woman's eyes widened in horror. "Are you insane?!"

Ah yes – nature, green things, sanctity of life, _he has every right to rummage our pumpkin field, it's his land_ shit… he should've thought they would react like that.

He waved again – noticing dirt under his fingernails and almost bursting into tears – and he hid all his thoughts, putting a smile on his face. "Ann-Catrin sent us to work with your chickens on your, your… place." He wasn't sure if he should call this a farm or a community. Many people worked and lived here. He also couldn't decipher whether they were organic, vegan, off-grid, or something else. This place wasn't vegan, for sure; a few goats watched them suspiciously while they walked with Cynthia to meet the other workers, and he saw geese, too. Meat, eggs, milk – this place wasn't even vegetarian, much less vegan.

Off-grid they were; solar panels covered the roofs of all the small one-room garden houses. They collected rain, so they weren't in an immediate danger from enzyme pollution, but a small pool with fish and ducks was clearly used for watering their gardens. And one mountain creek supplied water to it.

He nodded to Sophie to pay attention to that, while he listened to Cynthia's impossibly complicated speech about the chickens. Sophie already had a sample from Ann-Catrin's bean field, and she could collect one from the pool. They needed to get water from this pool, check if there was another creek, and take soil from a few spots. Preferably finishing all of that before he actually met or – what a terrifying thought – _touched_ anything with feathers.

He had had enough shocks from Ann-Catrin's farm – that bean field had _dirt_y soil, and his hands were ruined. One young girl noticed his trouble, and she gave him cream. He knew it would be home-made, organic blah blah whatever, but when he smelled it, she explained that it was from dandelions. And he couldn't Google that. The cream was great – until Sophie mentioned that the base for it was probably lard. He ended up rubbing that horror off his hands with dirty soil, drying them again, and he. Wasn't. Happy.

Yet, troubles with nature kept him occupied and diverted his mind from their other trouble – it worked every time, except when he would look at Sophie, which happened every minute, her being constantly in front of his eyes, so he was on a see-saw. Annoyed with this green shit, and troubled with a memory of his own despair. Alec Hardison wasn't often helpless – and he could recall that feeling of defeat with disturbing clarity. Numerous times he had cursed the unknown bastard who messed up his transactions; Nana was rapidly going down, her time was measured, and someone _stopped_ him, after all the preparations, from pressing that key and getting the money for her.

And that someone now had a face. A face that avoided meeting his eyes.

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The only place that had a strong and constant signal was the bar in the middle of the village, a central position in the valley. Nate stationed himself there after he drove all around, trying to catch a good spot for calling. Now he was sure he was available, and the only thing he needed was to call all of them and try to catch them while they were available too.

Hardison and Sophie answered almost immediately.

"Thank you, thank you!" Hardison sounded as if he just saved him from drowning. "Don't hang up! Talk to me – say anything you want, talk about politics if you want – everything except nature and green things – but just talk. I want to hear a normal human voice, distorted through the speakers, not distorted with damn quacking and a soft breeze through leaves! This godforsaken place is full of pollen, Nate, _pollen_! And it's dirty, there's soil everywhere, wet soil with squishy sounds, and geese chased me. No, Sophie, leave-" A rustling sound came through the phone, something clanged, but before Nate could say anything, Sophie's voice replaced Hardison's. She put him on speakerphone, and the background sounds melded with Hardison's quiet protests.

"We have the last sample from Ann-Catrin's farms, and we collected three more at Cynthia's place."

He tried to hear how she felt, but it was impossible just through her voice. It had a slight con-voice feeling in it, though - the best sign she played a role in front of Hardison.

"Okay, we'll test them when you bring them to the meeting point. Anything new? How are you two doing, and have you heard from Parker and Eliot?"

Only the quacking in the background came as an answer. Hardison stopped murmuring.

"We are fine," she finally said. "Hardison is busy hiding that he is allergic to feathers, and I'm studying compost and manure. And no, we haven't heard from them. Hardison tried to call Parker a few times, but they are clearly deeper in the mountain. We can't reach them. You try."

Those last two words were said more like an order, than a suggestion, reflecting all her worries about Eliot and Parker.

"I will. In case I can't reach them, and you hear them first, tell them they have to go to the third camp." He quickly explained what he saw and what he needed them to check. He didn't say anything more about that London night, and both of them were carefully avoiding that subject. That was enough; he didn't need more.

When he finished the call, he ordered a Jack, and started calling Parker and Eliot in turns.

Parker answered when he was on the third glass.

"Eliot is with his people, going to a remote location where they plan to put up another camp, and after that he will go with Baldy, Derek…or was it Salmon? …to take care of some delivery." She recited that as if she read that from the paper, reminding him of the very first days, and her first disastrous tries at grifting.

"Okay… I've sent you both messages with an explanation about the third camp. You will get them when they go through, maybe later. Ryce-Forbes's main building very likely has our enzyme. It's surrounded by a wire fence, and he has five dogs. It's surrounded by sawmills, machinery and piled timber and has many good entrance points. After Eliot finishes with that delivery, and checking that outer location, you both go there and try to find something. It will be late, the second shift will end, and there won't be many people." He paused, waiting for her to say something, but she was silent. "How are you doing?" he asked.

"I got a job. I was bored in the camp, so I talked with people there, and challenged a few loud guys to pole-climbing. They were pathetic. They gave me a wood chipper with a hydraulic crane, a huge one, for large logs, the one you _drive_."

He squinted, imagining Parker armed with a wood-destroyer-whatever. "That's great, but I wasn't asking about that."

"And I think I saw Wayne at one point – a shadow in the trees, very fast."

He sighed, and changed tactics. "What does Eliot say about that delivery and the outer team?"

"I heard that from the guys."

Great, they weren't talking even about the job. "Did you talk with Hardison or Sophie?"

"Seventeen missed calls from Hardison. No."

"Is Eliot okay?"

"He is always okay."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm always okay."

"Look, Parker, there are dogs, and maybe guards around that building. You'll have to work together on that, and I have to know-"

"I have to go. I have wood to chip."

She hung up before he even opened his mouth to stop her.

This was getting better and better. He finished his drink in one sip, waved to a waitress to keep them coming, and hit Eliot's number. And hit, and hit.

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Destroying the wood brought the calm back. There was something comforting in monotonous moves, repeated actions, and roaring noise while the mighty machine gnawed the large chunks of wood, and Parker could almost clear her head of all the disturbing thoughts.

Images and feelings were harder to chase away. She still had nightmares about being trapped in that ventilation shaft. Broken legs – that was the worst of all. Speed was her life, mobility and ability to clear out. She had been certain she would die there. She had been dehydrated, delusional, she'd felt every scrape of sharp bones tearing her flesh, scraping on her nerves… for days.

And when Eliot had come to talk to her, she didn't hear him – she heard the dull sound of his knife slicing through the rope. That scared the shit out of her – the fact she didn't see him, Eliot, anymore, she saw only the unseen face that she had learned to hate blindly.

She also knew, without any doubt, that he wasn't seeing her then, but was seeing someone who had caused his friend's death.

The overwrought machine moaned at that memory, and she eased her hand, slowed down the speed of the rotating blades.

She had tested him, like she had always done with poking his bruises or drilling his nerves when he was annoyed. Oh yes, she'd known she was right when after only three seconds of her silence, his face closed, and one of his nastiest scowls broke through the mask he was trying to maintain. He didn't want, really, to talk to her, he only thought he had to. He did that step because he ought to do it, not because he wanted it – and that _lie_ hurt more than she thought it could.

He would never look at her the same again; she destroyed the team. No – both of them did that.

She would still have Hardison, she tried to tell herself – but that wasn't enough. Not anymore. She needed this family, all four of them.

Refusing Eliot's offer to talk was a mistake. She knew that now. It wasn't important that it was a lie – it would be the first step, something to build on. Maybe, with time, they would be able to fix it, somehow.

She turned the engine off.

Afternoon was slowly crawling towards the evening, and she worked for hours without even noticing it. The camp was filling with people returning from their posts, and the noise grew louder. It was only a matter of time before Eliot would return with his team, either from delivery or from usual work.

She went to their trailer to change, choosing her darker clothes. What had Nate said? Three-story building, wire fence, dogs. Something like that would be an exciting challenge on a normal day, but today, only the thought that she would go there with Eliot, work with him, while silence continued to spread between them, set a knot in her stomach. It settled in a permanent position while she packed her gear, when she heard his laugh in front of the trailer.

This time, she had to do the first step; she opened the door and hurried out before she lost all her courage.

He was standing with Baldy; they listened to Salmon telling a joke, and that was a real smile on his face, not a fake one – but it froze and slowly died when he raised his eyes to her. His face closed. This wasn't angry-Eliot. This was cold-Eliot, very rarely seen, and frightening.

She stopped short.

Salmon shut up.

This was good. A couple fighting was a perfect cover, it cemented their roles, and nobody would suspect they were on the job. It made this real. But she never knew what ordinary people did when fighting, or how they made it… go away.

No words came, and she just shrugged, and changed her direction, passing by them, avoiding looking at him.

This was useless. She waited until the three of them went away, going to the cantina, then returned to the trailer to pick up her gear. It was easier to go to the third camp alone, than to endure doing it with him – in silence, not trusting each other, a perfidious mockery of their previous understanding.

And maybe it was even the time to remember how it felt to work alone.

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"Are you trying to tell me you don't know where she is?"

And there it was… careful, reserved distance in Hardison's voice. The last time Eliot had heard that awful sound, they also talked on the phone. Massachusetts General Hospital. They talked about stepping over the lines that time – he could still recall that dreadful talk word for word – while Hardison tried to ask him what he would do to save them from the Chileans. But what Hardison really wanted to know then, was what kind of monster would be unleashed on Boston that night, when he finally started. The hacker got his answer very shortly after that – but then, he learned to live with it, if not accepting it. This was a painful reminder of Hardison's fear; the man who he wasn't anymore was brought to life, in the present, before their eyes. _Yeah, Hardison, I used to kill people. Surprise_.

"No, Hardison, I know where she is," he said with the same reservation in his voice; he couldn't hide it. "Nate's message was just now delivered to my phone, he sent it earlier. I can't reach him, so I'm calling you. I'm trying to ask you if you heard from her."

"I tried to call her, no use. You were supposed to work _together_."

The accusation hit the target, because Hardison was right, but he swallowed all sarcastic replies, and took one deep breath. "She just left," he said as normally as he could. "I only went to the cantina and back, five minutes tops, when I saw she'd taken her things. I'm going after her, and we'll check that place. Tell that to Nate if you reach him. The meeting point stays the same place, the same time. If we're late, wait – we have today's samples, and maybe, if our luck holds, we'll find something in the third camp."

"That would be nice."

Hardison cut the call after that, and Eliot stared at the phone in his hand, not sure if he was more pissed off because of Parker, or this idiot. Or himself. Or every damn thing in the last two days.

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Someone naïve would think that five guard dogs behind the tall wire fence was perfect protection. Parker didn't even spare a glance at the animals that followed her with their eyes. She tucked her rope, hook, and harness into a pile of sawdust at the edge of forest, and went around the wire fence.

She watched the human activity in the camp. The main building was the first in a row, surrounded by a patch of green lawn. Behind it, after one more lawn, was a warehouse of similar height, but much larger. The last buildings in that complex were two sawmills. No lawn divided them from the warehouse; the space between them was full of lumber in all shapes and states. Huge tree trunks, some of them even with branches and leaves, lay near the fence, after them followed logs in more precise stages of production.

The wire fence kept the dogs only around the main building, they weren't allowed to go among the workers.

Nobody was in sight, and she could check the entire perimeter from the edge of the forest, hidden. The mountain slopes ascended around the fence. She stood by the trees, and she had a perfect view of the complex, directly below her. The main building was closed and empty, and the warehouse still had a few people finishing their jobs and preparing to go, but the sawmills clearly had longer working hours. Judging by the giant reflectors all around it, they might've even had night shifts.

But evening was closing in, eerie mist was returning into the forest, and people generally very rarely looked up, above their heads, when doing something.

That was her way in, far away from the dogs on the ground. She had to hurry, to use this short period of time while everything was grey and murky, but not dark enough for reflectors.

She checked everything once more and returned to her starting point to dig up her gear.

It would take three zip-lines. The first, from the trees and over the fence, onto the roof of the sawmill. That would be the trickiest part, and she had to calculate the exact moment when no one was in sight to notice her. After that, two more zip-lines, one from the sawmill to the warehouse, and the last, from the warehouse to the main building, would be easy. She had many good spots to shoot her hook at, and secure the rope, and everything would take only a few minutes.

She went up the slope until she was a little higher than the sawmill roof, and found a good tree with low branches to secure her rope to.

The rope hissed through the mist when she shot it to the sawmill roof, the hook clanging until it firmly attached to some metal construction. She checked the rope and tied it to the tree. The well-known routine calmed her down, and her concentration was in full swing.

It wasn't a drop-off, but her trajectory had a nice, comfortable descent. It would take her over the fence, over the empty space, then piled timber, and finally, over all machinery, band saws and cutters before she reached the roof of the sawmill. Thirteen seconds, if her calculation was correct – and it always was.

One last thing, and she was set to go. She attached her harness to the rope and adjusted all the cinch-locks. The roaring of the band saws covered all other sounds, but it was only important to see people walking below her; after a half a minute the perimeter was clear.

A sudden movement in the trees behind her drew her attention, and for one long moment Wayne flashed through her mind, but the shadow was familiar. She would recognize Eliot's steps anywhere.

The worst thing was, in that first moment, while her mind was still occupied with calculating trajectories and angles, she smiled, glad he was there, that he guessed where she went. Then she remembered, and the almost forgotten knot in her stomach tightened again.

She didn't need him here now, not on this sort of job. And it would be much easier if she wouldn't have to tell him that – she simply didn't know _how_ to talk to him anymore.

"Parker, wait." His whisper was barely audible; it sounded hesitating.

But no. Thinking about their troubles would only distract her. She didn't need that now, not while preparing for a jump.

She clicked the last lock, and let herself go, leaving behind a barely audible angry grumble.

Free-falling would be better, but even this, while wind whipped her face, brought a smile back to her face. She turned her head to look back; Eliot was now standing by her tree, and she wondered if he could see her smile. He probably could, because she could clearly see his face, dark, still cold and closed-off.

And then his hand moved. The smile froze on her face when she saw a blade. One long, long moment she was simply confused, but then the blade flashed up, and she swore she could hear – though she was too far away to really hear it – the same dreadful sound of a knife slicing her rope.

It snapped. He _cut_ her rope.

The wind changed direction while she was falling, unable to scream, to think, frozen in disbelief. The air, caught in her paralyzed lungs, burst out when she hit the ground, hard, and the searing pain flashed through her knee, back and head.

The last thing she saw, before darkness washed over her, were reflectors shooting the blinding light, making his face, up there in the woods, more clear.

Still dark. And so cold.

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	3. Chapter 3

The Dark Rashomon Job – chapter 3

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Pain brought her back to the present. She lay crumpled on her right side; a burning sensation in her right arm, hip and forehead gnawed through the darkness until she opened her eyes and managed to blink. Lights, loud shouts, barking dogs, everything attacked her senses, until her confused brain refused to cooperate and started shutting down again. But then she remembered Eliot's knife, and pain much stronger than this physical one hit her unprepared.

Why, what, how, _why_ – she gasped for air and raised her upper body on one elbow. Only then did she remember the strongest pain, a tearing sound in her knee, when the movement moved her leg and _pulled. _A scream died on her lips when she bit them, hard. _Broken. Left to die_. Confusion hit her again, for one the moment memory of the ventilation shaft closed again around her, and she crawled – tried to crawl away – but no escape came, only more pain, more noise. More tears.

Three men hovered over her, and their baffling voices melted into one.

"Got her!"

"Find the others!"

"Call the boss – and call the other camps. Tell them to send their men here. We'll need witnesses! Hurry!"

It wasn't important. Only Eliot's betrayal was. She tried not to close her eyes, her brain still paralyzed with disbelief. The air was thrown out of her lungs when she hit the ground, and she could only suck air in small, shaky gasps. Men around her merged into one hand that reached for her hand and pulled. Her elbow sent a bolt of pain through her arm and she screamed and scooted away.

For one second she could focus only on that hand reaching for her – and in the next second, that same hand _bent_. The sound of bones breaking sent another scream from her lips – she squinted, disorientated, absolutely certain she heard her own legs breaking again – but the body flew away from her. The two other men jumped away as if something exploded between them.

And something really did. She stared at Eliot and his quick, precise moves. He fought only a few steps from her, standing between her and the other men; shadows tilting in the corners of her vision were more men running towards them.

One more man fell down. "Parker, get up and run!"

_What have you done_? she wanted to scream, but no words came, just a small _meep_.

Eliot turned to her, despair and anger fighting in his eyes – five more men surrounded him, and that moment cost him two heavy hits – but _that_ was her Eliot, not that cold face that cut her rope. She cleared her mind. _You saw it wrong_. No other explanation.

She gritted her teeth and crawled a few feet away from the group. _You saw it wrong_, she repeated the mantra in her head, forcing the reason back – _her_ Eliot would never do it. Not now. He came for her. This Eliot fought to get her out – a familiar feeling returned her to her senses.

But he was losing. There were bodies on the ground all around him, and the rest of the men attacked all at the same time, too close, not giving him time to sort them out and deal with them separately; he was barely able to keep standing. The moment he fell, or stumbled, it would be over. They would simply run him over.

"Let the dogs out!" A man standing aside gave the order, and one from the group stepped away – she saw him running behind her, to the part of the fence that divided the main building and this part.

She couldn't move, couldn't stop him, but Eliot could. He caught one second and the knife flickered under the reflectors, hitting the man in the thigh – he screamed and swirled in the air, hitting the ground.

A scream escaped her when she looked again at the fight and saw Eliot falling back; a bloody stripe blossomed across his chest, and a man who hit him with his foot – dear god, he had shoe claws, spikes flickering just like the knives – aimed for another blow, this time at his head.

She uncurled herself, crawled back, tried to get up – and barely avoided that same man when he flew at the ground one foot from her.

Eliot was back on his feet. Something changed – his speed remained the same, but there were no more dull sounds of his fists hitting flesh – no, his strikes now made cracking noises. He broke bones with brutal, deadly smashes, forcing his way through the remaining men towards the man who gave the order to let the dogs loose.

She suppressed the urge to cover her ears, and instead pulled the phone out. She hit Nate's number, but only static answered. She stuttered a few words nevertheless, and cut the call when the sudden silence froze her.

Eliot stumbled to her; fierce eyes and bloodied knuckles. "We have to clear out," he breathed. "More will come." He didn't wait for her response; the next second his arm was under her back, the other under her knees, and he pulled her up in the air.

She buried her face in his shirt, burying the scream as well – her knee was in agony. No, she wouldn't tell him, they couldn't stay here, there was no time for checking her knee. A few men lay not moving, the others were writhing on the ground, clutching the broken limbs – dear god, she almost sympathized with them.

"I c-called Nate," she managed to utter, clutching at him. Darkness crept over them when he carried her through the hole in the outer fence; obviously, tearing the fence apart was another way to get in. Convenient.

"Good girl," he rasped. There was almost a smile in his voice, but his steps were heavy, each sending the burning needle through her knee, until she couldn't take it, until the creeping darkness engulfed and swallowed her.

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"Thank God you're here!" An unknown man stopped Nate while he was packing the last bottle. The samples he took from the small stream near one of the farms were the last for this evening, and he was about to head to the meeting point. But this guy obviously had something else on his mind.

"Excuse me?"

"You're the new vet, right?" The man only looked worried, not hostile, so Nate let him nudge him to the wooden buildings by which the creek flowed. "Don't have time to call Jim. You'll have to take a look at Sophie."

What? Before he could ask anything, or even think about all possible explanations, they entered the stall, and he faced a huge, black and white cow. Now he knew how matadors felt when facing the raging bull. The _thing_ watched him with hatred.

"Sophie is freshened," the man said, rummaging through the closets. He noticed Nate's blank stare and continued. "Pregnant. Bred, in calf, expectant, whatever you educated people call it – and something is wrong. She is pissed off."

"She is pregnant, of course, so she is supposed to be pissed off – look, I have nothing with me now. I'll call you in the morning and come here with Jim for a proper examination, and we-"

The man came back from the closets. "No worries doc, I have everything you need." He raised his hand, showing him a rubber glove. _Up-to-the-elbow rubber glove_. "Put this on, and get down to business."

Sophie let out a thundering sound.

His phone saved him; he frantically searched his pockets, giving the sign to the man to wait, and moved a few steps away from the raging mountain of flesh and hooves.

"Yes?"

Cracking noise filled his ear. "Trouble…" A pause with more cracks. "…blown."

"Parker, what's going on?!"

"…hurt."

"Parker_, where are you_?"

The line went dead.

His voice must've betrayed something, because the man waved. "I see, go. I'll call Jim."

"That's... a goat in mortal danger," he managed to smile. "I have to hurry."

He ran outside, towards his truck, hitting Parker's number. In vain, the call didn't get through. Then he tried Eliot, Sophie, Hardison, and again, over and over, while driving up to the mountain, closer to the lumberjack camps.

One part of the mountain emanated bright light. The third camp.

His heart sank deep. He hit the speed dial again, and pressed the gas pedal.

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Even through the fog that surrounded her while she fought to reach the surface again, Parker knew she shouldn't scream when a sudden movement sent the needle back through her knee. She lay on her back. Soft leaves rustled with her every breath.

She could see only more leaves above her; dark branches made a roof that blocked the dark greyish sky from her sight. Yet, the leaves had a bright tinge. They moved in the breeze, catching the white light from the right. _Reflectors from the complex_.

Her leg moved again and she cut the scream off, raising her head to see it. Eliot was kneeling beside her, bent over her knee; it took her a few moments to understand that he was _listening_ to it, while moving it inch by inch.

"Torn ACL," he whispered. "I don't hear bones cracking, and that's a good thing. The bad thing is… no walking for you for a long time."

She stared at him stupefied. Only then did he straighten up and look at her, the leaves dancing their shadows on his face.

"_Why_ did you do it?" She finally managed to articulate her thoughts. "What did you do? I saw you cutting m-my rope – you didn't – you wouldn't… would you?"

Only shadows moved.

"Yeah, I cut it," he said a nuance quieter; though he didn't move, she saw a tension settling in his posture. "You didn't stop when I called you, and I was already by the tree where you tied that rope…It was unraveling before my eyes. I had seconds to choose: cut it immediately so you fell onto open ground… or hesitate until you were above the band saws in the sawmill."

"My ropes don't unravel."

"This one did." He raised his hand, showing her the tips of his fingers; the same red rash like he had when the axe's handle had crumbled back in Portland.

"I put my gear in the pile of sawdust while I circled around the fence," she said. "But only minutes passed-"

"It disintegrates the wood, Parker, minutes were enough to damage the rope."

"And you came to get me out." She said it carefully. Testing the waters with him was always tricky.

He got up. "We have to move. They are chasing after us. They are spread in the woods – more men from the other camps are gathering here."

"The reflectors are still close," she said. "Why did you stop?"

"They'll be even closer. I'm taking you back, only on the other side. Take a deep breath now."

This time the pain didn't take her out; he immobilized her knee with some wood, which held it in position. Yet her head and her entire right side pulsated with every step he took.

"I would be better limping," she breathed. "You don't have to carry me."

"I'm not carrying you. I'm… applying you."

"You what – oh." She was really pressed on the cut across his chest – but she wasn't that dizzy. She knew it wasn't helping, on the contrary. "Nice try."

"What did Nate say?"

"The call didn't get through. Or maybe it did. I don't know." She squinted, and then closed her eyes. It stopped the dizziness. "Why are we going closer?"

"Because they are all hunting us. Nobody is watching the main building and I'll be able to find proof of the enzyme. A pile of sawdust isn't enough now."

"They'll find us any minute – they have dogs."

"Guard dogs, not blood hounds. They don't know how to follow a scent. They are still there, not after us. Will you shut up now and rest?"

"No," she said. Her discomfort had nothing to do with the pain now. She searched for words, forcing herself to ask him… but matters of feelings were always too foreign for her. "You came to get me out," she repeated her words, unable to say anything more precise.

It seemed he would start talking again about something else, or simply say nothing.

His embrace grew stronger. "Ya' know… I didn't know if you were alive when you fell," he breathed finally. "You hit the ground pretty hard… and I did that. This time, knowing you're on the end of that rope. That changes priorities, Parker. Makes other things irrelevant."

"Even… deaths?" She held her breath then. He did too; she felt it clearly.

"You can hold on to something – or someone - you've lost," he said finally. "But that stops you from holding something – or someone – you still have. And God help me… I have you, and I ain't gonna lose you."

She buried her smile in his shirt, and relaxed.

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Eliot found a small door in the fence on the opposite side; it took him fifteen minutes of slow sneaking through the forest, avoiding the loud people that searched for them, widening the circle. More of them came every minute, armed with flashlights and a very imaginative assortment of cutting tools.

He left Parker tucked in a pile of dry leaves, under one bush; he did check if the leaves would leave another rash on his fingers. They were clean.

There was no hope of escape while carrying her. He was too slow, already breathless from the fight, and that cut didn't help either – he could fight off a few of them, but in the end, they would get them. Not to mention risking getting lost on the mountain with a hurt woman who needed help.

He told her to call the others, and tell them where to pick her up.

He had another job to do – to make sure no one found her until the team took her away.

The complex was almost empty. Only a few wandering men were still inside the fence; all the rest were in the woods, in a search party.

Five dogs ran up and down the front side of the fence when he entered from the back, coming from the direction of the warehouse and the sawmills. It gave him fifteen crucial seconds.

In the end, it took just one move of his hand to clear the woods of the chase and divert them from Parker – he slammed his fist into the back door of the main building, and alarms went off, ringing loudly through the night.

He grinned then, calculating how much time he had before all of them gathered around the building, leaving the woods clean for the team to take Parker and clear out.

Five minutes before they cut him off. More than enough to search the building. He slammed the door directly into the five growling jaws, blocked and secured the door, and went upstairs.

The alarms were already set off, so he didn't have to be silent and slow – he simply knocked out all the doors on his way up, searching for anything suspicious. He found it on the second floor; a storage room under three complicated locks and a separate alarm system. It held him one entire minute. Fancy locks had no chance when slammed with a heavy working table.

After another minute, he had enough pictures in his phone to make every prosecutor very happy – in his case, Hardison would be happy, when he got the pics. There was also a desk computer, and that meant files, and Hardison heading to ecstasy.

He turned it on and went to the window while it booted up.

The entire empty space around the sawmills was full of people. The woods were clean, and Parker was safe.

He sent the pictures to all their numbers; Hardison would get them, eventually, when they came closer. He checked the computer, and prepared for the first group of reckless idiots who would try to take him down.

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When Parker heard a distant alarms, she knew what he had done and why. The thick forest around her, only a minute ago full of people combing every bush, started to empty, like a bottle put on its side without a cork. One group came dangerously close to her cover, and she ducked lower, not moving, not breathing.

When their steps and quiet voices disappeared towards the complex, she shook the leaves off from her, and groped around to find a branch, stick, anything that would help her to walk.

This place was good for hiding, but her phone was dead. Going closer to the complex might work. And they did need help, and as fast as they could get it.

This was maddening. Her right foot didn't touch the ground, and the long branch she used as a crutch worked perfectly, but nevertheless, every step set her knee on fire. She balanced on one foot, holding the phone in the opposite hand, and her progress was pathetic. With this pace, she would need an hour to get there – an hour Eliot didn't have.

She hit speed dial again, and again, continuing with her shaky steps, and frustration filled her eyes with tears. Pain she could endure; being unable to be fast, not that much.

Right at the moment when her phone finally caught a signal, and when she heard the ringing on the other side, she also heard something else. A quiet rustle in the bushes behind her.

She slowly turned around, clutching the branch tighter, and met the pair of eyes focused on her, glowing in the darkness.

"Hello, Wayne," she whispered.

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Nate was almost run off the road when two large SUVs darted past him on the muddy road; he turned the wheel to the right and let them pass. This would be Ryce-Forbes, going to his complex to deal with a crisis, not some more lumberjacks. They drove mainly trucks.

Yet, that stopping wasn't in vain. His phone finally caught one of the numbers he was frantically dialing. He hoped he reached Eliot, but it was Parker who picked up on the other side.

He listened to her hurried whisper, and his engine died, forgotten.

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This was what a world without microwaves would look like. Hardison stared at the bowl of green goo they got for dinner. _Pea soup my ass_. They simply blended some cabbage with grass.

All the workers in the community sat in the front yard, at the long tables under the sky, with sweet little candles all around. He and Sophie had to wait with them until they could excuse themselves to walk to the meeting point with their samples, and to see what Eliot and Parker had managed to do with the third camp.

Little lights flickered on Sophie's smiling face. Crickets gave background music to the sound of soft laughter. The scene had almost Lothlorien feeling.

They were, also, covered with mosquitoes, and he had gloves on his hands to protect them, and his collar raised high. Cynthia gave him a tincture for his face and now he smelled like lemon with vinegar.

When his phone rang he quickly jumped away from the table, and walked down the yard. It was Nate.

"We're blown, Hardison, take Sophie and join me at the third camp. Parker and Eliot are in trouble. See what aliases you have – FBI, police, whatever you have."

"What kind of trouble? I have nothing to work on-"

"Their search of the complex went south – thoroughly. I'm closer to the third camp now, and I talked with Parker. She is hidden on the outer side of the fence, and she's hurt. She fell. Don't panic, okay? Eliot's inside the main building, surrounded by dogs and dozens of angry lumberjacks. They gathered from all camps. She said they're entering in groups – and they don't come back – but he can't continue with that for a long. I got the pictures and files he sent me, you'll have them soon when you come in range."

"What's the plan, Nate?"

"The No-Time-For-Playing-Plan." Nate's words sounded hard. "We get there. We get them out. End of plan."

"Couldn't agree more."

"She said one more thing – I'll text you the exact aliases she wants both of you to use, and why, and how, if you manage to arrive on time."

Hardison glanced at Cynthia and Ann-Catrin debating something by Cynthia's pick-up parked down in the yard. "We'll be there in five minutes," he said and cut the line.

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Eliot waited for the third group of reluctant intruders by the main door this time. He had let the first two groups climb up to the second floor, because he had to work on that damn computer, without Hardison in his ear. His frustration with the unresponsive thing helped, though – he poured it onto the attackers. He had to _click_ on the keyboard and the lumberjacks paid for that humiliation.

He sent all the files he could find and open to Hardison's phone, and repeated sending all the pictures to Nate. In the end, just in case and because he didn't know what to do next, he pulled out the entire hard drive and tucked it in his jacket.

There was also a safe on the wall of Lee Ryce-Forbes office, but that couldn't be opened by slamming the table at it. He looked out through the window. No way out for him. They were everywhere. Ryce-Forbes must've called the men from all the camps; he saw Baldy, Derek and Salmon with other familiar faces.

He left the office and climbed down.

This third group, however, took more time to deal with. Fighting took its toll; he was getting tired and slower. The bleeding cut added to that, though it wasn't too serious. Just a nuisance he definitely didn't need now.

Fighting five men left him barely standing and bent in pain, with dizziness from a few nasty hits.

But the same five men _crawled_ out of the building, dragging their broken limbs, sending the message to the horde that gathered around the building.

When he took a look through the glass parts of the door, to check the preparation of the fourth group, he saw Nate standing by Ryce-Forbes.

_Showtime_.

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The wire fence around the main building was open, and Nate slid through the mud with his truck, spraying the nearest people.

_Here comes the civilian witness_. Not that lynch mobs had enough mind to take it into consideration. If able to consider anything, they wouldn't be a lynch mob.

Nate stopped his musing when he stopped his truck, a few meters from Ryce-Forbes, who stood there with his men. The same group from the last time he was here – even Heidi was there, blinking confusedly at the roaring lumberjacks. Yellow Boots was trying to organize a few of workers into the group that would attack the door, but they seemed reluctant, for whatever reason.

"Thank God I came on time!" Nate hurried to Ryce-Forbes. A twitch of anger was visible on the older man's face. He, if no one else here, knew what civilian witness in the middle of an attempted murder meant. "I gave Heidi the wrong drugs for your dogs," Nate continued, not letting him say anything. "I got them here now, and I called Jim to come, too – we will examine all five of them and see if…" He trailed off, as if just now noticing the unusual amount of loud people around. "Oh, you're celebrating something? Don't worry, this won't take long, I'm sure your dogs are okay."

Ryce-Forbes opened his mouth to speak, but he looked behind Nate, and shut it.

Nate turned around – a pickup truck roared, following the muddy tracks his truck made.

Two women with shotguns jumped out first, looking more pissed off than that cow had been.

Sophie and Hardison followed, their faces set into official, cold glares.

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Hardison raised his wallet – the shiny piece of metal in it wasn't a badge, but the cut off top of a Coke can – and flashed it at Ryce-Forbes.

"My name is Wayne Rutherford, FBI." As instructed in Parker's message, he said it quietly, for starters. He waved to Sophie, who raised the bottom of the same Coke can. "This is agent Jane Wayne. We believe you have two of our agents in your complex. Would you be so kind as to call off your men, so we can reach them?"

Yeah, he knew this was Canada, but he had an entire speech about joint action and logistic problems about jurisdiction and three dozen complicated legal, official terms and regulations that would confuse and baffle even an entire team of lawyers. When pressed with fear – and damn, he was _scared_, with Eliot trapped in building and Parker hurt – he could spill five hours of utter bullshit faster than the average mind could follow.

But the sight of Parker at the edge of the light – the reflectors were strong, but they couldn't penetrate the darkness in the trees that surrounded them – tied his tongue, and only a stupid smile flew to her. She limped, keeping her right leg off the ground, using a big branch as a crutch while she hopped closer.

"Hello, agent Wayne!" Her high pitched voice rose over the roaring voices of the mob surrounding them. She also sent him a smile.

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A low howl cut off every sound around the building, when a giant black bear came rushing through the door in the fence. Nate was prepared for that, but he found it extremely easy to freeze as if not acting at all.

The beast galloped, and a howl of panic stirred the mob.

"Wayne!" One of the women with shotguns opened her arms and the bear changed his course, galloping through the men, knocking them over as he passed like bowling pins. He ran to the woman, directly into her arms.

But then Hardison, who used the commotion and panic to go to the other side of the empty space, called Sophie. "Agent Wayne!" he yelled as loud as he could. "Would you mind coming here?"

The bear stopped hugging the woman and turned to Hardison, sprinting to him as fast as a bullet, forcing even more men to dart aside on that new trajectory. Parker's high laugh rose over yells and screams.

"Wayne!" she called again, and the bear howled, spinning in the middle of his step, taking another turn.

By now, Nate could recognize the cheerful bounce in his running to and fro. People who were on the path of the charging beast couldn't. Panic cleared out the perimeter, and only a handful of men still stood – probably frozen in shock. All the others were climbing the fence in desperate escape, or simply going through it, taking it with them as they disappeared into the dark forest.

Ryce-Forbes and his closest men were huddled in a tight circle, back to back, and it was only a matter of time when one of them would notice the red collar around Wayne's neck.

Nate calculated his position, waited until Wayne was close to Parker, mentally drew a straight line between two of them, and called Hardison. "Agent Rutherford! Wayne Rutherford, isn't it?"

Wayne spun in joy and headed directly to him, knocking over a few remaining men who were unlucky enough to be between Parker and Nate.

And that was it – only the middle group stayed, not counting a few of the knocked down who were clever enough to stay low and play dead.

That middle group was directly in front of the main door of the building, and Nate was pretty sure they wouldn't move for a long time – Eliot was standing there, casually leaning on the door frame, smiling at them with his best move-and-you're-dead smile.

Nate had to, however, let Wayne hug him once before the bear ran to the shotgun woman for a helping of cooing.

"Mr. Ryce-Forbes," he called when he saw the group slightly relaxing. "I think it's time to settle this dispute. Authorities were called to investigate your use of forbidden and non- authorized substances, and reckless endangering of wildlife and human health." He saw Hardison nodding; the police had been called. But he also had someone else on his mind. Professor Dobson had said there was one FBI agent here, in the field. Unless he wasn't one of the few that lay beaten senseless, or climbing the fence in panic, he should be here, in the middle of…

"I think the FBI can take over now," a female voice said. Heidi stepped forth, still dressed in a sharp suit. She smiled at Hardison and Sophie and shook her head slightly, as in no-comment, and showed Ryce-Forbes the real badge.

"Uhm," another voice said somewhere in the group. "It ain't happening, Missy." A huge black lumberjack raised his hand with something in it. "Derek Neigh, ATSDR."

"What the hell is ATSDR?"

"Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry, ma'am. We've been investigating this man for over a month. He is ours."

"Well," the third voice joined in. "NSERCC has been here for two months, Derek."

"Baldy?" Eliot pushed himself from the door frame and took a step closer – Nate used that move to give a signal to all of them to start gathering. "What's NSERCC?"

"Natural Sciences and Engineering Research Council of Canada."

"Sorry, guys." The other shotgun woman shook her head. "I was here first – CCOHS." She didn't wait for them to ask her what the hell that was. She went on, "Canadian Centre for Occupational Health and Safety."

Hardison was already beside Parker, helping her to Nate's truck; Nate nodded to Sophie to hurry up. She walked slowly around the group and nobody paid attention to her for now.

Eliot was the last. Nate waited for him, monitoring the group.

Yellow Boots was the next. "I think CEAA is above all your agencies, and I've worked here the longest, more than six months. The Canadian Environmental Assessment Agency has monitored this man and his activities from the beginning. We only needed the proof."

A storm of voices – and a few new acronyms in their replies – rose in the group as they all started to talk at the same time.

Nate took a few steps back. Hardison didn't need his stare, he'd already typed on his phone while Sophie entered the driver's seat. Hardison would probably have problems with accessing their phones even this close to the main building, but sooner or later, they would all have Eliot's pictures and files.

Eliot had five more steps. He passed by a quarrelling group; they were too busy with their credentials to stop him. Only Baldy winked in his direction.

Nate held the door until Eliot was in the truck, then jumped into the passenger seat.

"Sophie, we need a veterinarian," he said. "Step on it."

Only Wayne's sad howl followed them down the muddy road.

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"I thought he would eat me," Parker said to Sophie while she helped her to raise her leg on a sleeping pillow for dogs. She lay on a low examination table, with more pillows behind her back. "I even tried to hit him with a branch, but he looked at me stupefied – obviously not used to people hitting him with sticks, and he nudged me with his nose as if asking what was wrong with me. Which is a pretty clever question for an animal, when you think of it."

Sophie hid a smile and took a tube of cream Jim had given her to apply to the thief's bruises. Parker grumbled when she rubbed that on her elbow. "But then I saw his necklace," Parker continued, talking over her obvious pain and dizziness. "It said: I'm Wayne, I'll follow you if you call me. Please contact – and there was Cynthia's phone number – and my momma will come and take me home." Parker raised her eyes to Sophie. "How do you transport a bear over the border?"

"You don't," Eliot quickly said. He sat in the chair – Jim was putting stitches on a nasty cut he had. "Stop, Parker, we ain't taking him home."

Sophie had avoided looking in his direction because she winced every time she glanced at the needle Jim held; it looked like it was for sewing buffalos, not human beings. But now she checked him. His tone was normal, just as Parker's frown in his direction was the old, familiar one. Not a trace of that dreadful silence that had settled between them after the London night revelation.

Sophie wasn't sure how she stood with Hardison. They hadn't had a chance to talk; they had kept avoiding the subject, and this speeding up put that matter further aside. Maybe it wasn't for solving between them, after all. Maybe it would die out on its own, remaining only as an uncomfortable shadow in the background. She could live with that.

When Hardison and Nate entered the small surgery room behind Jim's office, she saw she had guessed it right. Hardison's eyes met her squarely for the first time in many hours.

"Lucille is ready, and the Challenger is also parked in front," Nate said. "Ryce-Forbes was taken into custody, and as far as we could see, they all took him in, still arguing about their official authorities. We are ready to go. Jim?"

"Finishing here. Your young friend has a severely torn ACL. I immobilized her knee, but she has to see a surgeon to see if she needs surgery."

"No way," Parker said. "A few days of rest, and I'm walking."

"Six weeks of complete immobility." Jim looked at Nate, not Parker, while saying that, and Sophie knew the thief's protest would be in vain. "The Lachman test doesn't lie. It's serious." Jim went to the sink to take off his gloves and wash his hands. "I closed the cut," he said to Eliot. "But you have to go to real doctor to check everything."

"Yeah, sure, first thing when we get home – directly to hospital, no waiting."

Sophie hid her smile for the second time, but Jim didn't notice anything strange in Eliot's reply.

"I have to go now. I have one pregnant and hysterical cow to take care of, and I have no idea how long it will take. Stay here as long as you need to rest. If you leave, just close the door, nothing else." Jim stood at the door for a second before going out. "And thank you. You started Ryce-Forbes's fall, and this valley will again be healthy. Beavers will no longer die." With that, he went out.

"More beaver dams, more mosquitoes," Hardison sighed. He crumpled on the chair near Parker and rubbed his face tiredly.

"What's that smell?" Parker sniffed the air around his face.

"Eau de some-natural-vinegar-shit. Don't ask. Nate, can we clear out of this godforsaken place? As in now? I've had enough of green things, and I'm hungry. Besides, Parker needs a real doctor, not this-"

"Parker needs two days, and she will be ready for Japan," the thief said without a smile.

Nate passed by her to the sink, and hooked his hip onto it. He also looked tired. They all did. The last night wasn't full of restful sleep for either of them. But all of them looked as if a heavy burden had been taken off their backs, in spite of that tiredness – all except Nate.

Sophie turned her chair a little so she could see them all: Eliot leaned back in his chair with his legs outstretched, covered with cuts and bruises; Parker and Hardison together, the hacker holding her hand – and Nate, separated from all of them, watching them with something unreadable in his eyes.

He hadn't gloated at Ryce-Forbes, she remembered then. He'd simply stepped back and let it all happen without saying a word, rushing them all away.

"What's wrong, Nate?" she asked. That silenced Hardison's soft whisper to Parker, and straightened Eliot's back; their attention settled in their sharp eyes.

"I won't risk further damage to your knee," Nate said to Parker. "We'll adjust our job in Japan for just four of us. You'll stay in Portland. With no comm connection."

Parker was so taken aback that she couldn't articulate any word.

"But that's not what's wrong," Nate continued.

Sophie took a long breath. His words were said with an unusual hesitation; something dark lurked in the depths of his eyes.

"You all remember the Dagger of Aqu'Abi, and how really funny that entire thing was," he continued. "You also remember my role in it. Why didn't even one of you ask yourself one question: where I was that night when your paths crossed in London?"

Oh. She met three pairs of eyes, all of them with the same question, the same realization. Nate was right, they hadn't thought of it, too occupied with their own troubles. And Sophie felt a sinking feeling forming in her gut – she didn't want to hear his part in that disaster. Not now, not when everything seemed to be alright again. The team's eyes showed the same feeling.

"IYS was one of main insurance companies that organized the tour for the Purple Sapphire and the Devonshire Emerald. I was there – and I was the one who almost killed you all." His eyes rested on all of them, one by one, but no one said a word. They waited. "Luckily for you," he said, "your actions against each other, though disastrous at first sight, saved you all."

"Nope." Eliot was the first to break the silence after his words. "You might've been in charge of security, but you didn't hold that knife."

"We were warned about a continuous hacking attempt that night, and the authorities had taken it very seriously. It was in the heart of London, after all, and the Museum of Natural History is spitting distance from Buckingham Palace – we had the National Counter Terrorism Security Office in the back rooms, on stand-by. All the security measures were set on high alert, but invisible. All of you were walking directly into a deadly trap."

"But if my hacking triggered it, it wasn't your fault," Hardison said.

"It wasn't you. You weren't that sloppy. Someone else, irrelevant, tried to turn off the alarms. Amateur work, but it directed us to look more closely, and then we discovered your hacking. You were collateral damage, noticed only by a happy chance. Besides, you were after accounts."

"I don't get the 'saving part' in this," Parker whispered. If nothing else, Japan had slipped from her mind.

Finally, Nate smiled. "If Eliot hadn't cut off your rope, and you hadn't fallen into that ventilation shaft, out of sight and reach, you would have been caught, maybe even killed." He looked at Eliot then. "If she hadn't triggered that alarm, sending the closest, regular security onto you, you wouldn't have been forced to retreat without the job done; you would have continued and fallen directly into the real trap, with the anti-terrorist team who would have shot to kill. You would be dead just as your friend."

The word _friend_, from Nate's mouth, triggered a flicker of pain in Eliot's eyes. He had told her about Jean, not Nate, and this acknowledgment of an unspoken loss seemed to be as equally painful as the memory was.

"And Hardison…" Nate cut the moment, turning to the hacker. "If Sophie hadn't messed up the accounts you were after, disabling your money transfer, you would have been caught, too. We had a team who was waiting for the final pressing of the last key that would show you. You didn't press it, and no police banged on your door with a warrant for your computer."

"Alright," Eliot grumbled; it was the sound he made when not sure how he was supposed to feel. "That's three out of four. What about Sophie?"

Nate looked at her then. Sophie smiled, as warmth spread through her heart. He probably guessed it already.

"Oh, I wasn't saved that day," she whispered, watching them all. "Or maybe I was; it's all about perspective."

Those four people now were her whole world. She knew that even before she realized what had really happened that night, eight years ago. And if she ever wondered if they were the right people for her, now she knew it without any doubt.

"That night," she said, "the four of you, not knowing it, years before we met for the first time, _created_ Sophie Devereaux."

Even Nate stood confused; silence settled on them, but not that dreadful absence of sounds like the last time - this one was a soft cover. "Charlotte Prentiss, the Eight Duchess of Hanover, was no more after that night. My cover was compromised, and I had to leave her behind. That night I chose my new name."

"Not all tears are for evil," Hardison whispered.

Yes, there was a veil of tears in her eyes, but she didn't trouble with wiping them off her face. She stood and looked at them all again – her family – and took Nate's hand.

"Take us home."

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- THE END -


End file.
